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The Fast Life Of St. Barts In Slow Season

By CLAUDIA DREIFUS

Published: May 25, 2003

BEYOND the fact that it was a winter resort for the superrich, my partner, Andrew, and I knew little about St.-Barthélémy in the French West Indies when, last July, we booked ourselves a vacation there.

At best, we had a vague sense of the place -- aka St. Barts-- as an island with French food, great beaches, high prices and tourists who, generally, were the sort of folk who'd sold their ImClone shares at the right moment.

But it was already late in the summer. We were on the lookout for a getaway when an unsolicited notice, presto zippo, flew into my mailbox with what seemed a terrific deal. As an off-season promotion, the Hôtel St.-Barth Isle de France was offering a seven-night package: lodging, dinner on the night of arrival, daily Continental breakfasts, sunset cocktails, and other extras. The tariff was $392 a night for the two of us, including service and taxes (this off-season the same package is $494 a night). A little Mercedes sprinter, a two-door Smart Car, designed by the Swiss plastic watch people, Swatch, was tossed into the deal.

Impressed, we made reservations. We figured that the Caribbean was really no hotter than New York in the summer and that if things really got steamy (they didn't) the hotel was air-conditioned. Only as we were winging our way to the Caribbean, did we -- two of the world's most compulsive planners -- feel misgivings about our hastiness. What on earth had we signed on for? Or as Andrew put it in his rusty high school French, ''On recolte ce qu'on a semé,'' which means, more or less, ''You get what you pay for,'' or more literally, ''You reap what you sow.''

The Hôtel St. Barth Isle de France was a beauty. The 10-acre resort stretched around one of the island's best beaches, the Baie des Flamands. Many of its 33 rooms faced directly out on the water, as did most of the public areas. The back cottages, where we were staying, were situated in a discreetly camouflaged garden full of tropical blooms and birds.

As for our large and sunny quarters, they were decorated -- like much of the Isle de France -- with white linen, mosquito netting and fresh cut flowers. What we had was as much a junior suite as it was a bedroom -- three huge closets, a canopied king-size bed, a seating area with desk and entertainment unit, a private deck and a bathroom bigger than most New York bedrooms. The marble bath featured a whirlpool bath, double sinks, a separate shower and that grand product of French civilization, the bidet. Most appealing were the little extras: toiletries by Molton Brown, free juices in the refrigerator, and a plate of homemade macaroons. Andrew, who can sometimes be fussy about hotels, ran the water in the bidet and the sink, popped a macaroon into his mouth and issued a verdict: ''C'est bien.''

Pleasant as it was, there was more to St. Barts than our small corner -- at least 14 other beaches and a fascinating cultural history. Until about 30 years ago, St.-Barthélémy was known as one of the Caribbean's poorest backwaters. Arid and mountainous, this island experienced a very different type of development from its neighbors -- St. Maarten and Anguilla.

The uneven topography meant that during the colonial period, there had been fewer plantations built and thus little call for African slave labor. St. Barts, in fact, is one of only two Caribbean islands -- nearby Saba is the other -- where the native population is mostly of European origin. Most St. Barthians are descended from impoverished Norman and Breton settlers who immigrated there in the 17th century. Over the generations, les St. Barthes scratched out a living as farmers, fishermen and pirates. Though the island remained a legal entity of metropolitan France, the French of St. Barts were all but forgotten by their countrymen back home. Cast adrift in the New World, they developed their own culture.

In the 1970's, a new wave of settlers named Rothschild and Rockefeller discovered the place. Suddenly, St. Barts was transformed into a Caribbean St.-Tropez. From metropolitan France, a whole new generation of emigrants came, opening boutiques and restaurants, building hotels and villas, overwhelming the indigenous ''old French'' culture and almost obliterating it.

Today, St. Barts is among the quirkiest of all Caribbean islands. At the Hôtel Isle de France, you'll see topless women from Paris smoking their Gauloises and sunning themselves by the pool. In Corossol, a native town directly abutting Gustavia, you can see les St. Barths wearing their traditional bonnets and speaking in old Norman. And from the radios, you'll hear Jacques Brel as well as Bob Marley.

Except for water sports, beach walking and tennis, there's not all that much to do on St. Barts -- which has no golf course or casinos-- except eat. Fortunately, St. Barthians take their food seriously. There are six brands of French butter for sale in the supermarket -- and excellent cheeses and wines. The island's largest hotel, the 75-room Guanahani, is known not so much for its two lovely, walkable beaches as for the fact that it imports chefs from top restaurants in Paris and New York to cook along with its in-house staff. ''People come here for the food,'' a fellow guest at the Isle de France, Phil Bettan, of Glen Cove, N.Y., explained, in an understatement.